Forever Stars
by Paprika Dreaming
Summary: An accident inside The Three Broomsticks leads to something more. ScorpiusxRose with heavily implied DracoxHermione. Complete.


I admit I went through a period of _intense_ epilogue hate, but when I got over it I realized the next generation had so much potential. This is a cutesy friendshippy fic more than anything else, but of course I had to work my OTP (that JKR murdered with a chainsaw) into it somehow.

**Story Title:** Forever Stars  
**Genre:** Romance/Friendship  
**Rating:** G  
**Warning(s):** Deathly Hallows epilogue spoilers  
**Pairing(s):** Scorpius/Rose, with heavily-implied Draco/Hermione  
**Summary:** An accident inside The Three Broomsticks leads to something more.

Forever Stars

It all began with a snowstorm so ferocious that only the bravest (or perhaps the most astonishingly thick) would have dared venture outside. As a result, The Three Broomsticks was packed with stranded witches and wizards; you couldn't take a single step backwards without your elbow catching someone in the ribs.

Rose Weasley learned this the hard way.

"I'm dreadfully sorry!" she exclaimed as the boy doubled over. "I didn't mean to--- oh, bollocks---" Her mind registered the sight of butterbeer spilled all over the front of his robes, immediately connecting it to the empty tankard lying pitifully at his feet and arriving at the very definite conclusion that, not only had she inflicted unbearable pain on an innocent bystander, she had also cost him his drink.

"Oh, I'm really _sorry!"_ she wailed, wringing her hands, not knowing what to do.

After what seemed like forever, the boy slowly straightened up, revealing a pale, pointed face with white-blond hair and eyes that were cold and gray and--- much to Rose's guilt--- still watery.

Her heart dropped as soon as recognition dawned. Out of all the people in the world she could have possibly assaulted in a crowded pub, it had to be Scorpius Malfoy, The Boy She Had Been Repeatedly Warned to Stay Away From, because his father was A Right Bas--- Jerk, Sorry, Hermione, Dear.

Rose had been successful in adhering to her dad's wishes for the better part of two years. _I reckon my luck was bound to run out _some _time, _she thought wryly. _Hopefully he won't know who I am and we can just go our separate ways…_

Scorpius frowned. "You're the Weasley girl."

If Fate were an anthropomorphic personification, Rose decided, it would be an evil, cigar-chomping little man with a twisted sense of humor, who delighted in the misfortunes of others. The kind who spent all day making up dead baby jokes.

"Yes," she said, very cautiously. "I'm Rose Weasley."

As far as beginnings go, it wasn't perfect or particularly historic, but it was theirs, and that made it special, somehow.

* * *

"Good game," said Rose, smiling that smile of hers that was so--- well, he hated to use the word _nice, _which struck him as too simple, too ineloquent, but that's just what it _is. _Nice. There was no better description for that warm feeling of contentment her smile gave him. Especially now, like this, with her all silvery in the moonlight, lying beside him on the sweet-smelling grass of the Quidditch pitch. 

He grinned, the thrill of victory still tingling in his veins. "It _was _good, wasn't it? I was in perfect form. Unstoppable!"

She rolled her eyes. "I give you a little compliment, and you take it as an invitation to brag. Typical."

He reached out and squeezed her hand. "It's the rush. It wears off. Promise."

Quidditch was one of the few things that could bring out such enthusiasm from him. His father had played the game with skill but only mild interest--- most of Draco Malfoy's schoolboy passions had been focused on what he still sarcastically referred to as the Dream Team, on humiliating them and coming out on top. There had not been much left for other things. Quidditch, for him, had simply served as another avenue he could explore in his quest to get the best of his rivals.

Scorpius was different. He had fallen in love with the sport the moment he got his first broomstick at age four. He could _feel _the game inside him--- Bludgers smacking against wood (and sometimes skulls), sunlight glinting off the Golden Snitch, the explosion of cheers from the crowd every time the Quaffle soared through a hoop, the wind whipping at his face, the freedom of flying, of flying forever…

He turned on his side and noticed Rose had a contemplative expression on her face. "What are you thinking about?" he asked quietly.

"That day in Hogsmeade," she told him. "A few months ago. 'Member?"

"Yeah. You bumped into me to catch my attention."

"Did not!" she hissed, blushing, playfully thumping his chest. "It was an _accident."_

"So you say."

"Scorpius!"

"All right, all right." As he was about to hold up his hands in mock surrender, he realized that their fingers were still intertwined. He wondered if he should let go, then decided against it. She didn't seem to mind, and, besides, it felt--- there was that word again--- _nice. _Everything about her and everything about being with her was nice.

"Anyway," she said, "I'm glad you didn't get mad."

"How could I have? You looked so scared I thought you were going to throw up. And, well, you _did _dry my robes."

"And then you bought me a butterbeer and we talked," Rose murmured. "You were a perfect gentleman, Scorpius!"

"Mmm. I try."

Truth be told, he wasn't sure what exactly had made him do it. He'd been bored with his friends nowhere in sight, and then a pretty redhead with elbows sharp enough to be considered weapons had bumped into him. He had recognized her as one of the Weasleys that his father always referred so derisively to, and would have snapped at her if she hadn't been looking at him with brown eyes so fearful and so wide that he'd felt like he was being sucked into their depths.

So, instead, he had introduced himself, allowed her to siphon the butterbeer off his robes with her wand, and then bought her a drink, all the while trying to quash the uneasy feeling that his grandfather was turning over in his grave.

"Dad told me to stay away from you, you know," Rose informed him. "He sent me a Howler when I wrote and said I'd met you and you seemed very nice."

"I haven't even told _my _father we're friends," Scorpius confessed.

"Why not?"

"Well… he wouldn't like it, and things are already uncomfortable enough at home as it is…"

Rose nodded in understanding. "Are they still fighting?"

He turned on his back once more, gazing up at the distant stars. "They never stop, those two."

She bit her lip, hearing the bitterness in his voice that he tried to conceal, and then drew closer and slung one arm over his chest, burying her face in his shoulder. She smelled like peaches. He was suddenly acutely conscious of his sweat-stained Quidditch robes, not even wanting to think about what _he _smelled like.

Rose wasn't the type to mind that sort of stuff, though. She hugged him when he was covered in mud, or wet from the rain, or soaked in the remnants of a potion that had gone horribly wrong. It was--- oh, bloody hell--- _nice--- _to know you had someone who would touch you like that no matter what.

"Mum said your father's not so bad," Rose told him earnestly. "He's a bit rude and stuck-up and prissy, but when it comes down to it, he's not evil. And he does have a heart, she said. Not a particularly good one, but it's there, all right."

Scorpius cracked a smile. "Father said your mother's a bossy know-it-all who doesn't know how to shut up."

"Charming."

He laughed, grateful for a reason to. "He also said--- and I quote--- 'Granger thinks she's so brilliant, off and marrying someone who doesn't even deserve her. Stupid bint.'"

Rose blinked. "That's actually kind of sweet---"

"What!"

"---in its own twisted way."

He gaped at her until she flushed and waved her hand dismissively.

"Oh, never _mind. _It's a girl thing."

He accepted that. Girl things were dangerous, uncharted territory, the best way to deal with which was to refrain from asking too many questions.

Rose's giggle broke the few moments of comfortable silence.

"What's so funny?" he asked cautiously, wondering if it was yet another girl thing.

"Your dad still calling my mum 'Granger,'" she replied with a grin, which he mirrored.

"You know, I pointed that out to him one time."

"And?"

"He went really still, and then he said in that cold and quiet voice he uses when he's mad, 'There is no bloody way in _hell _I am calling her 'Weasley.'"

Rose shook her head. "Grown-ups are strange."

"Yeah, I agree."

"Speaking of grown-ups, we ought to go back in before we get caught."

"Let's stay---" _forever--- _"---a little longer."

"But---"

"C'mon, Rose, tomorrow's a Saturday."

"We've a lot of homework---"

"Please?"

She sighed. "All right. Fine. But just for a few more minutes."

* * *

"Rose, I'm sorry!" 

"Get _away _from me! I _never _want to talk to you _ever _again!"

She folded her arms and glared at him, terrifyingly furious--- an effect which was ruined a second later when she sneezed. He couldn't quite control his grin, and her eyes narrowed.

"I am so glad you find this _amusing."_

"Rose---"

She stepped forward, placing her face dangerously close to his, jabbing him repeatedly with her finger in between each angrily snarled word. "In all--- my years--- in--- Hogwarts--- I have _never--- _gotten--- detention--- _ever!"_

"I know, Rose, I'm so---"

"Do you have _any _idea at all how serious this is?" she railed. "Can you _possibly _comprehend what this will do to my academic record? It's ruined. I'm ruined! What will I tell my parents? That I have to scrub barrels tonight because the Headmistress--- the _Headmistress, _Scorpius!--- caught me asleep on the Quidditch pitch with a boy while she was out for her morning walk? I won't be able to look Mum and Dad in the eye ever again! They'll _disown _me. No, scratch that, they'll _kill---"_

He kissed her. He couldn't help it. The sunlight streaming in through the window pooled around her feet, illuminated her reddish-brown hair, made her look like some sort of beautiful, perfect, angry angel. He couldn't have _not _kissed her.

It was a quick kiss, a soft, dry, pressing together of lips that was over too soon. He drew back, heart pounding furiously, feeling much like he did after scoring a goal in Quidditch.

She stared at him, an unreadable expression on her delicate face, fists clenched at her sides. He braced himself for a slap, or a right hook, or--- _please, Merlin, let it be--- _another kiss.

"I hope you catch my cold," she said stonily, before turning around and walking away.

Scorpius Malfoy was the happiest boy in the world.


End file.
